


the underside is brighter (when you turn it around)

by orphan_account



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Ableist Language, Agender Number Five | The Boy, Aromantic Luther Hargreeves, Autistic Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy), Body Dysphoria, Body Image, Boys in Skirts, Compulsion, Coping, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Bonding, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gender Roles, Good Brother Luther Hargreeves, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Mental Health Issues, No Incest, Nonbinary Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy), Number Five | The Boy-centric, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy), Paranoia, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Recovery, Scratching, Self-Esteem, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Indulgent, Sibling Bonding, Stimming, Stream of Consciousness, Tags May Change, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, allison and luther are just friends, and only stuff like 'crazy' or 'insane', delores is a coping mechanism, delores-centric, five gets new clothes, five's gender isn't relevant i just thought i'd tag it anyway, he still uses he/him though, he tries his best, it's self-directed, luther has an actual personality can u believe???, no cutting though, vent fic, warnings for each chapter are in the notes, well. dubiously healthy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-18 01:10:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18975787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The dress before him looked like something Delores would wear - teal, with sequins lining each hem, jewelled flowers sprouting from the very feet of the skirt. He felt her stir in the back of his head, stretching, testing how alive he was willing to make her today, how willing he was to play into his own delusions - and smiled, softly, jerking her head to the side."It's pretty," she admitted, "but the one to the right looks more your style."[ or: Delores was a coping mechanism, and Five still clings to her, whether she has a body or not. ]





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> oof some quick notes  
> \- this is a vent fic/projection so excuse that  
> \- this is luther-friendly, which ik is a rare sight in this fandom but still  
> \- i tried to vaguely say the luther-and-five-are-twins thing from the comics, so that's there. feel free to ignore it if you don't like it, i personally don't care  
> \- nb/gnc five found his way in here somehow, idk man  
> \- aro luther also found his way in here. i'm not aro, so feel free to correct me if this is wrongly presented
> 
> title song is "everything stays" by rebecca sugar.

Five separated himself from Delores physically, but should've known it wasn't enough.

Delores was in his head - Five was delusional, but not _that_ delusional. Delores was in his head, and nowhere else, and the mannequin he carried around with him was a projection of the person in his head - and she _was_ a person, because what else could she be? She talked like a person and he could feel her smile like a person, too, when he admitted he was wrong.

So no matter how much distance he put between himself and her body, no matter how long he went without her voice in his head, he knew she was still there. He knew it. She curled around his thrumming thoughts protectively, and held him close when he lay awake at night.

* * *

Klaus had his dog-tags. He curled his fingers around them in a fist when the world got to be too much, and tugged at them restlessly when things got too shaky. He tucked them under his shirt to meet his chest as he slept and held them close to his heart when he cried. They were a tiny comfort, a shiny silver speck of safety in a world that was otherwise against him.

Five envied that, sometimes, because the dog-tags were to Klaus what Delores was to him - but Klaus never got the same looks as he did, because it was small and normal and ordinary, for guys like him to lug around old memoirs and cry so fondly over them. When Klaus gripped at his tags and wept, people thought him traumatised; when Five clung to Delores and screamed, they thought him _crazy._

It didn't get any better when he stopped taking her body with him. Every word she spoke hit his heart like a bullet, hard and cruel, a reminder that he'd never truly be _normal._

* * *

It wasn't all bad.

Five had gone out shopping for clothes before - once with Luther, and again with Vanya. Luther was many things, and Five loved him dearly, but he knew even less about fashion than Five did, and the ex-assassin found himself grimacing at the clashing colours and thick, suffocating fabric. Luther certainly tried, but he dressed like, well, _Luther_ \- a _moon-hobo,_ as Klaus put it. Vanya was significantly better, but quite simple with her choices - flannels and polos and jeans, all things that looked decently good on Five, but all things that lacked a certain flair to them.

It was when Klaus and Allison got involved that things got interesting.

Allison started him off easy, leading him gently into a section that fit more to his tastes - crisp whites and stark blacks, and shoes that looked like they'd last more than three wears. She was constantly picking hangers off the racks and holding them gently against Five's small frame, quietly muttering sizes under her breath, inspecting him as if he were some model she'd met whilst doing whatever famous actresses do in their down-time.

By the end of Allison's spree, Five had enough sharp outfits to make his commission-self blush. "Handsome," Delores purred in the back of his head, turning his ears red. Klaus clearly took that as a challenge.

The medium basically dragged him to the intersection of teens' clothes - where the boys' and girls' met - spread his arms and told him to "go wild, Fivey! _The world is your oyster,_ or whatever!"

He found himself leaning more into an apocalyptic style than a commission-esque one - where he'd found dress-shoes and suits with Allison, he found thick leather jackets and hiking boots with Klaus. His younger-older brother beamed at him as he tossed each item into the cart, saying that he was "enjoying the grunge aesthetic", whatever that meant - and Five found himself pausing in front of the girls' section, frowning.

The dress before him looked like something Delores would wear - teal, with sequins lining each hem, jewelled flowers sprouting from the very feet of the skirt. He felt her stir in the back of his head, stretching, testing how alive he was willing to make her today, how willing he was to play into his own delusions - and smiled, softly, jerking her head to the side.

"It's pretty," she admitted, "but the one to the right looks more your style."

Obedient, Five turned to look; and she was right, as always. The not-Delores dress was plain and white, made of thin fabric, and short enough to stop just above his ankles, billowy and pretty without being too much. He only hesitated for a minute before taking one from the rack and throwing it in the cart, ignoring the way Klaus' smile widened as he did so.

* * *

It took him a good month to wear his new outfit, but it'd been staring at him from his closet ever since.

It was similar - _eerily, eerily similar_ \- to one he'd found in the apocalypse. Seasons had been complicated then, and he barely registered the passage of time, but he thought it had been maybe spring when he'd found the new pile of clothes, and summer when he'd finally worn them. The weather was more intense, somehow, once the world had died, so his usual outfits became far too hot under the heavy glare of the summer sun.

A pretty white dress that billowed around his ankles. Sturdy brown boots that kicked up dust when he walked. A thick leather jacket to keep him warm, if the weather decided to be complicated that day (as it often was, back then). Delores had called him _beautiful, so beautiful,_ and he'd called her beautiful back. They'd been beautiful _together,_ then.

Delores couldn't be beautiful without a body, but she still smiled at his reflection, warm and fond.

* * *

Sometimes he felt more like Delores than Five.

Vanya was the only one who knew about those times. She told him, quietly, that it was easy to spot - he seemed a little more different, a little more vague. Still a person, still a personality, but one less formed; still Five, but loose and fragmented, a majority of his personage swept under the rug of repression.

She promised that she didn't judge him for it. He thought _she_ was crazy for accepting him so casually.

* * *

Five lay curled at the end of Luther's bed when he returned home from another pseudo-mission - some mundane chore he'd taken up to avoid wandering an empty house - and stretched out like a cat, preening.

"Why are you still up?" Luther asked, and, after a moment's thought, "Why are you in here?"

The ex-assassin considered his question for a moment, slumping down onto his bed. He watched as Luther shrugged off his coat, rolled his shoulders, perched gently on the side of his bed - grimaced at the way it creaked. He barely restrained his smile.

"I don't know," he decided. Luther grunted, shifting to a more comfortable sitting position. He lowered himself to almost lying down, nudging at Five with his foot - and the older-younger brother huffed, rolling off the bed and appearing across the room with a sharp pop.

"If you don't know," Luther groaned, "then why are you still here?"

A huff. "Harsh, Lu." Five elected to ignore the wince the old nickname drew from his brother. "I just wanted to see if you were alright."

Luther startled, eyes wide, staring at Five as if he'd just told him the meaning of life. "What?"

"Dunno," he shrugged, not breaking the eye contact. "Just figured you'd be lonely."

The room had long grown dark, but Luther's stare broke through it all like a flashlight, hitting deep in Five's chest. He remembered, distantly, being young and happy and free with Luther and his other siblings; times that were long gone. After far too long of a glance, Luther wheezed out a sigh, turning to look away from the boy.

"I'm sorry for threatening Delores," he muttered tiredly, shrugging. "I get why you need her, now. She keeps you sane. You're a lot _nicer_ when she's around."

Five's face wrinkled at the word 'sane', but he nodded politely in agreement. "Yeah, I guess she does."

* * *

He hadn't meant to fall asleep in Luther's room, but he woke up in Luther's chair with a pillow to the face. It'd be concerning to an outsider, maybe, to see a man as big as him assaulting a tiny teen with a pillow, but Five wasn't weak, and Luther had always been more gentle with him than the others, fond and nervous, never number one.

The time traveller stretched until his spine cracked - Luther didn't bother hiding his grimace from across the room, still rubbing sleep from his eyes - and lay limp on the chair like a rag-doll. "You and Allison figured things out yet?"

The taller brother turned positively crimson with embarrassment, face scrunching. "I don't love her like I thought I did," he stated, voice strained, "but I think we all _knew that already._ "

"Yeah, I had a feeling. I meant if she'd _forgiven_ you yet."

This explanation seemed to draw some comfort from the bigger man, as his face relaxed and lowered in saturation. A heavy shrug, and he turned to face his brother, nonchalant. "Didn't think it'd be appropriate to ask."

Delores came to mind in that instant, a faint echo of relief in the back of his head, the eternal knowledge that she wasn't mad, that she always forgave; and he rolled his eyes, straightened up, jumped across the room (and grinned impishly when Luther startled). "It's not something you _ask,_ dimwit, it's something you _observe._ Does she _act_ like she's forgiven you?"

Luther's eyebrows creased, and he - with an appropriate level of hesitance - shrugged. "I'm not-" a pause as he breathed, "We're similar like that, Five, I'm not good at _reading people._ "

Five would be offended, but the statement brought only fond memories to mind - sitting in Luther's room after nightfall, quietly mumbling through their people problems, never offering solutions but always offering empathy.

* * *

Luther didn't love anyone, it turned out. He liked the idea of romance, but not the application - he was more than willing to watch bad romcoms and read romance novels cover to cover, but found his place in more platonic affections. Five was the first person he told, after making this discovery, and Five would've laughed at the look on his face if it hadn't been so _genuine._

His biggest brother was a lot of things, but _genuine_ was never one of them. He'd long been brainwashed by Reginald, too perfect a soldier to be _genuine_ with anything he did. It was almost relieving to see him honestly emote again, after years of stoic, insensitive Luther.

"Maybe you're the same," he'd suggested, looping his arm around Five's shoulders (and managing to not look too offended when the boy shrugged him off, shifting until his hand was barely on his shoulder). "I mean, you've only ever loved..."

Predictably, Luther's voice trailed off into nothingness, not daring to speak her name. Delores preened in the back of his head, proud to be loved, and he grimaced.

"No," he admitted quietly, "I don't think that's right."

* * *

Vanya caught him calling himself crazy, and stopped him mid-sentence with a gentle hand to the chest, pressing a little too firmly to be comfortable.

"What?" he'd bitten, defensive as usual; and she'd looked at him with such sympathy in her eyes that it made him want to vomit.

"You're not _crazy,_ " she assured, voice more certain than it had any right to be. "You're just hurt, and express your hurt differently. You're not crazy. You don't do anything crazy." A moment of thought, then, "She _doesn't_ make you _crazy,_ Five."

He hated that tears prickled at the back of his eyes at her words. " _Fine,_ " he seethed, voice weaker than he had hoped for, "but that's _not_ my point."

Vanya's hand stayed put for the rest of the conversation, pressing firmly whenever he spoke badly about himself - and he'd seethe, and glare, and start his sentence over, grumbling through every word.


	2. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the windows were too dark, and businessmen on the streets looked like commission agents, and Delores spoke too quickly, panicked and afraid. Sometimes the lines of his identity blurred, and he was Five but not, Delores but not, a person who should never have existed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags have been updated!
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: dissociation, body dysmorphia/dysphoria, general self-esteem issues, identity issues, self-harm (scratching), paranoia, compulsions/intrusive thoughts. aka more venting lol  
> there's also some gentle stimming in there but it's nothing violent/warning-worthy so

To be lost in time and space is to drift, ageless and mindless, never quite solid enough to touch.

He'd sit with his legs tucked up against him, slumped against a wall, nursing at whatever found itself in his glass that night. Klaus would watch him from across the room, eyes dark and sad.

"You're here, you know," he reminded him. He only nodded, and took another sip, and stared into nothing.

* * *

The face he saw in the mirror was his, but not his; it was too young, too naive, one that should've been long dead to the world. His mirror was cracked and malformed from nights worse than these, and he couldn't bare to meet his reflection's eyes, to see himself in the shell that stared back at him.

It was a strange feeling, to miss pain, but he missed it - he missed the ache in his legs from walking too far in that wasteland, the thrum behind his eyes from staring too long into fire, the rough texture of his skin beneath his fingers where it'd been cut and healed all wrong.

He ran his fingers across his face - felt smooth young skin where it should be cracked and dry and old - and wondered how different things would be, if he was right.

* * *

Vanya was like him, in the way that she wasn't there sometimes.

Klaus was, too, but Klaus often brought it upon himself, in days when the urge to relapse was one too strong to deny; he had moments of nothingness without it, sometimes, but they were very different to Five's, very different to Vanya's.

Klaus allowed himself to cry - he did it a lot, really - and stared at something fake, rather than something nonexistent. He clutched at the tags around his neck and wept, and felt fake, and let himself stop whilst the rest of the world carried on, stationary and unwavering until he found the strength to resume.

Five felt more like a passenger on a ghost-train - the world never stopped moving, and he was dragged along for the ride, distant and vague but still wholly there, even when he reduced himself to nothing; he sat with his back to the wall of whatever room he found himself in, rocked gently back and forth, stared at nothing. He didn't cry, and didn't stay still, and sometimes even wandered, though his skin felt numb and wrong on his body, and he was never really thinking at all.

Vanya knew it, and knew it well, as he saw her do the same; they'd bonded once or twice over those moments where they were nobody and everywhere, those moments where "have been" and "will be" blurred together too fast. She held his hand and they became nothing together.

* * *

"Do you think," Vanya paused, running her thumb over the back of his hand. They'd barely began feeling like people again, when she decided it was appropriate to speak. "Do you think only Klaus can see us, when we're nothing? Is that why nobody stops us?"

Five's face scrunched, and he wheezed out a half-hearted laugh, biting back the urge to tell her how ridiculous that was. "Maybe."

* * *

Claire was so, so small, and he shook when he first held her.

She'd ran into his arms, eyes bright - _"Mommy told me you were gone, Uncle Five, that you'd never come back"_ \- and he'd trembled, and teared up, and held her close with gentle hands, more gentle than he could give anyone else. She was tiny, absolutely tiny against him, and he barely noticed he was crying until Allison took his jaw gently in her hand and turned him to face her.

"Five?" she asked, worry clear on her face. "Are you alright? Did Claire hurt you?"

He wheezed, breathed, sniffled, shook his head - and knelt down to face his niece, smiling fondly at her. She was watching him with concern that simply wouldn't do, so he reached up with both hands and rubbed at her cheeks with his thumbs. She leaned into the touch, lips twitching into a nervous smile, but the concern in her wide little eyes didn't disappear.

"I _was_ gone, little one," he rasped, not sure when his voice became so ruined - he'd been talking fine a minute ago. "but I'd _always_ come back, okay? Your Uncle Five will _always_ come back for his family."

Claire seemed to consider it for a moment, before beaming wide and nodding, hugging him even closer. He wheezed out another half-sob and held her.

* * *

"You're good with kids," Allison told him softly, once the rest of the family were asleep. Her voice was still hoarse from her injury, but a lot clearer, a lot easier to speak with.

Five nodded, didn't quite meet her gaze, looked at her cheekbones rather than her eyes. His fingers twitched restlessly around his glass - Allison's eyebrow had quirked in disapproval as she walked in, but today was too good a day to spoil by bringing up Five's alcoholism - and he found himself chewing the inside of his cheek.

"Am I?" he asked, just as quiet. "How good can I be, when I can barely hold a conversation with an adult-"

"No, no," Allison smiled, patted at his knee, ignored his glare (he didn't like being interrupted). "You don't need to be good with _people_ to be good with _kids,_ Five. People are terrible. Kids are new, and fresh, and pure."

Her eyes lingered a little too long on his face - "Unlike you," they said, somehow looking past his youthful face. He only nodded, shifted away from her touch, and jumped back to his room.

* * *

He stared too long at his reflection one day. Delores sighed and unravelled in the back of his head, curled comfortingly around his consciousness, stroked at his ego like one would a cat.

"You're still handsome, sweetheart," she promised him. "You always _will_ be."

He still ended up taking the mirror off the wall, flipping it and sitting it down so he could only see the wooden back. Delores sighed again, but didn't comment. She knew just as much as he did that there was no other acceptable option. Either the reflection of that too-young face left, or Five did.

* * *

The fabric of Five's one dress was just the right texture in his hand, and when he thought he tucked his knees under himself and kneaded it in his fist like dough. Delores told him, fondly, that it made him look like a sweet little kitten. He gave her his best scowl.

* * *

Sometimes the windows were too dark, and businessmen on the streets looked like commission agents, and Delores spoke too quickly, panicked and afraid. Sometimes the lines of his identity blurred, and he was Five but not, Delores but not, a person who should never have existed.

He felt his arms for trackers, scratched at his skin with his fingernails. He wasn't stupid enough to try with a knife - Diego would notice, and wrestle it out of his grip, and tell someone he was self-destructive. He wasn't. There's nothing self-destructive about being sure; there's nothing self-destructive about looking out for yourself and your family.

(His arms were red and sore, but there was no blood and no tracker, so his siblings let it slide occasionally, with nothing more than a stern glance. He knew they worried, but it wasn't anything to worry about.)

* * *

Eight days to the apocalypse. Eleven seconds until he has to do it. Twenty-five steps, five taps for each finger, eight clicks of his tongue. Eleven equations, twenty-five years, Five.

Delores hummed a lullaby to soothe him. He let the patterns go for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm glad you guys are enjoying this! i was kinda hesitant to show this stuff to the world bc it's so personal, but i'm glad it translates well.  
> thank you to everyone assuring me that my aro luther was well-presented! i worried quite a bit about that, so i'm glad i managed it!
> 
> if you ever wanna talk to me (whether it's about tua or anything else), my tumblr is @thefourfrickinhorsemen!


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